Author's Note: Hey guys! A special thanks to JoannaKuwabara, Montana-Bob, MarshieMello-Cookies, HumanKite96, demonlord5000, and Mickeymouse4everz for your reviews! And also, a special thanks to everyone else who followed and/or favorited! Means the world to me. Also, I went back and changed all of Kenny's previous dialogue to 'mrrph mrrph' just because I always thought that was a funny gag in the show and I wanted to incorporate it into my fic.
Chapter 3
Kyle Goes To Hell
Everything went black, then he was falling, falling, falling...
Kyle landed with a thud and an 'OOMPF!' He pushed himself off the ground with his hands and stood up, hearing the muffled thuds of people falling in place behind him. The sight that greeted him was horrendous. Thousands of lost souls—most old and decrepit, but all ages, races, and creeds were present—shuffled towards their doom in a long, coiling line. It wrapped around red velvet rope and seemed to go on forever. The thrum of thousands of casual conversation hung in the air like a death moan, mingling with the pitiful wails of the damned that hung from walls and ceiling by shackles. It was at least as bad as brunch hour at Country Kitchen Buffet.
"What the hell..."
Just then a demon woman wearing a hula skirt and a coconut-shell bra threw a flower lei over his head and said, "Welcome to hell! Please wait in line to receive your torture schedule."
"What do you mean 'welcome to hell?'" But the woman had already moved on, tossing a lei over the next confused person. "WHAT DO YOU 'MEAN WELCOME TO HELL'?" Kyle shouted.
"Please hold all questions for the reception desk," she said, and continued down the line, addressing each person in their respective language.
Kyle looked down the line, which ended at the desks of some very authorial-looking demon women wearing pantsuits. They sat against a backdrop of filing cabinets and had piles of paper stacked in front of them.
Judging from the length of the line and the pace they were moving, Kyle guessed it would take at least ten hours to get to them. Probably more. "God dammit..." he muttered, prompting a shadow-demon-dog to run up to him and poke him with a cow prod. "OW!" Kyle jumped and backed away hastily. The shadow-demon-dog thing gibbered at him but was impossible to understand. He too continued down the line, prodding anyone who showed signs of unrest.
Hell was very hot, and his ushanka and jacket weren't helping. The heat seemed to radiate from the ground, seeping through the soles of his shoes. Kyle's socks became completely soaked through, making each step squishy. By the time he reached the reception desks, he was disheveled—sweat dripping into his eyes and his bright red hair plastered to his face in strands.
"Name?" asked the demon woman receptionist. Her nametag denoted her as 'Ann.'
"Kyle Broflovski," Kyle panted.
"One moment." She rolled back on her chair and retrieved a file from the cabinet.
"Ah, yes. Kyle Broflovski. Here's your schedule for eternal torment." She handed him a sheet of paper with a schedule table on it. "First up, you will be shackled to a wall for 1000 years of torment and used bodily by the shadow demon dogs. Please proceed to your left and through gate 16."
"WHAT?"
"It's not that bad. They mostly just hump your legs."
"NONONO! This isn't right! Why am I here? I'm a good person! I go to the Synagogue every week!"
Ann tsked. "Well there's your problem. Judaism isn't the correct faith."
Kyle frowned. "You gotta be fucking kidding me. What is?"
"Mormonism."
"What?"
"Mormonism."
Kyle cocked an eyebrow. "Mormonism."
"Mormonism."
Kyle stared.
"He was letting others into heaven for a while, but that was just as death fodder for his war against Hell."
"Ahhhh," Kyle grimaced. "But-I-but..." He gave himself a little shake. "That is not the point! I shouldn't even be here. I'm just a kid!" He could feel the panic rise up in him like bile. "I can't be dead!"
Ann blinked and peered down at his chart. "It says here that you were crushed by a falling plane engine."
"What?"
"Yeah..." she agreed, "that's a weird one."
"NO SHIT!" shouted Kyle, fists clinched in anger. "Oh, God! This can't be happening! I'm a good person! Please—I think if you look at my file you'll see I don't deserve this! I'm a good person! Please!"
Her eyes flitted back to his chart and she ran one clawed finger down the paper, muttering under her breath as she did so, "heresy... blasphemy... boasting... pride... fraud... oooooo, it says here that you were an accountant with the, erm, 'Crack Baby Athletic Association'?"
Kyle closed his eyes and sucked in his breath, trying to remain calm. "I think that if you really look at my file, you'll see I've done way more good than bad," he said, trying to sound reasonable.
She blinked and looked down again. "Under that it says you were party to the burning and permanent disfigurement of a Mrs. Claridge and let one Trent Boyett take the fall."
"Oh, come on!—"
"And under that it says you killed Jesus Christ..."
"Alright, alright!" Kyle could tell this was a losing argument. "Is there anything I can do to fix this?"
"Well... I suppose you can file for an appeal."
"An appeal?" Kyle brightened. "Okay. I'll do that."
She pulled the paperwork out from her drawer and handed it to Kyle along with a pen. "About how long will this take?" he asked, bending to fill out his information.
"Approximately eleven thousand four hundred and ninety six years."
Kyle dropped the pen. "What?"
"Sorry, kid. But you're not exactly the first person to think Hell wasn't the right fit for them. We're a bit backed up."
Kyle was about to argue, but then someone shouted behind him, "COME ON, DUDE! YOU'RE HOLDING UP THE LINE!"
Kyle glanced behind him. The people in line were beginning to rabble.
"NO RABBLING!" Ann shouted, and a bunch of shadow demons swarmed the crowd and stuck them with the end of their prods. Frowning, Kyle hastened to fill out the form and handed it back to Ann. She took it with a complacent smile and said, "Thank you! Now please proceed to your left and through gate 16 where your eternal torment will begin."
Kyle sighed and trudged off.